


mardy

by luminiferocity



Series: ineffable, adjective (word of the day GO prompts) [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Hates Horses (Good Omens), Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27302074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminiferocity/pseuds/luminiferocity
Summary: "Are yer lost, mister?"-Crowley meets an unusual woman on his travels through the north of England.
Relationships: Crowley & Agnes Nutter
Series: ineffable, adjective (word of the day GO prompts) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993312
Kudos: 10





	mardy

"Are yer lost, mister?"

Crowley stopped his stream of muttered obscenities mid-flow and turned his attention upwards. From his vantage point perched on a knee-high rocky outcrop, the woman hardly towered over him, and she looked harmless. Her brown hair hadn't quite given in to grey, yet, though her face was lightly wrinkled. Nevertheless, there was something in her bearing that caught his attention. His skin prickled. 

"Nah, not lost, just not in the right place." He cocked his head, taking in her rosy cheeks and quickened breathing. "Are you being chased?"

"No, not chased." Her voice held the strange mix of stretched vowels and forgotten consonants that Crowley had found around these parts. She nodded towards the cluster of buildings nestled in the valley below, their contrasting dark timber and white wattle and daub construction clearly visible despite the distance. "A brisk walk about town once a day staves off many ills, you know." 

"Is that so?" He finally stood, but the woman didn't step back. Rather, she stared up at him, a gentle, incomprehensible amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes.

"What were you ranting about, Mr-?"

"Crowley."

"-Mr Crowley?" 

"Er, long story really." He'd intended to stop there, but found his mouth hadn't done talking. "Should have been bloody Aziraphale trotting through the Pennines, but no, it's this daft mug. I've told him a hundred times, animals really don't like me. His bloody estate auction better be worth it."

The woman looked him up and down, pausing to take in his trousers, muddy from his arse-first impact with the Lancashire countryside, then looked pointedly over his shoulder.

"And the horse?"

He bared his teeth in a snarl. She bared hers in a grin. He sighed. 

"Volunteering for glue duty, if it knows what's good for it."

She patted his arm consoling. "Don't be mardy, lad. You just missed the turning, it's easily done. Head back the way you came and follow the fencing left once you reach the old ash tree."

That knowing look magnified, and he felt a sudden empathy for insects pinned in glass cabinets. He might have rambled on about Aziraphale, but he certainly hadn't mentioned where this favour for the angel was taking him. 

"Right. I- Thanks."

"Don't worry, it'll all work out in the end."

These words were said with such a certainty and softness, he couldn't help but parcel them up and tuck them deeply away, as if their warmth might sustain him. He didn't need to breathe, but for a second he found it difficult.

Then he shook himself back to awareness and realised the woman was already marching away. But she paused briefly to call back over her shoulder.

"And do be careful, Mr Crowley – this is witch country, after all."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: mardy, dictionary.com WOTD 18.10.20


End file.
